#likewiley

the primitive instincts haunt her like old wooden floors under heavy feet, nipping at her heels while she walks, forcing her to appear less awake; indifferent but feral at the core. wilderness obeys only nature. van thinks that for a while there they could feel themselves becoming moss and frost. even after returning, it still feels like there's a thick slime clinging to their innards. ❝   hate to break it to you but shit is still real even if you don't talk about it. shocker, i know.   ❞ van meet sarcasm, as a defence mechanism. it's been their most valuable shield of armour. wears it like it's good for them or something and doesn't dare to question why the fuck it wouldn't be because they prefer to not think about it at all. which maeve is now requiring them to do. (nice one, wiley. real nice) she shoves her hands in her pockets like she's rooting around for a coin that's been lost in the hole she hasn't patched up yet but the truth is .. it's to stop them from shaking. ❝   what's so great about endings anyway?   ❞ any ending van has ever known comes from a movie or tv show because for all the shit that they've gone through .. it continues to follows them around. either the ending is so good that they still wish there was something more to come or it's so bad they wish they didn't watch the damn thing at all. so, yeah: van stands by her words: what is so great about endings?

all emma can do is laugh in response.  and it’s not even really a laugh — not a ha-ha funny laugh, but something awkward and breathy that gets caught halfway between her teeth and throat.  she sits slouched on one end of the wooden bench, knees drawn in to her chest, hands stuffed deep inside the sleeves of her nirvana hoodie; the godolkin university campus stretches out in front of the two women, looking somehow smaller than it used to her freshman year.  [or maybe she’s the one who’s changed in size.  she can’t really tell anymore.]  her hand comes up to tug at the black sleeve  —  a nervous tic she’s never quite been able to break, even after everything that's unfolded.  everything.  like the word could possibly hold enough weight for what elmira had been  /  what god-u still is to her. ‘yeah,’      she finally breaks her silence, voice coming out smaller than anticipated.  she tries so hard to make herself sound casual, light.  a cool girl, a chill girl — not still processing the trauma of being held inside a cage for eight months trauma girl. her lips curl into a smile that isn't able to reach her eyes.      ‘me too.’      but emma doesn’t feel it.  not really.  she’s alive, sure  —  her heart's still beating and she still has oxygen flowing in her lungs.  [still playing the part of little cricket, still pretending she’s not one bad day away from snapping in half.]  but happy?  happy feels like a foreign concept that belongs to other people now.  happy people didn’t have to crawl out from under the wreckage of what they thought the world was meant to be.  [happy people didn't have to worry about whether or not their guinea pig was dead or alive — or where he even was for that matter.]

*      incoming      /      @likewiley      .  .  .      (    random  dialogue  prompts    )      —      status    :    accepting  .      ❝        who  did  you  piss  off  this  time ?        ❞       

            getting  into  parking  lot  bust-ups  has never  exactly  been an  uncommon  occurrence  for  jd  .     it  seems  that  no  matter  how  many  towns  he  starts  over  in   ,   how  many  high  schools  he  enrolls  at   ,   trouble  always  has  a  way  of  finding  him  .     of  course   ,   it  doesn’t  have  to  look  very  hard     —     simply  being  an  outsider  is  often  more than enough  to  attract  the  ire  of  the  popular  kids   ,   particularly the  meathead  jocks  who  swing  their  dicks  around  to  cover  their  fragile  egos  and  think  stuffing  someone  in  a  locker  is  about  the  funniest  thing  a  person  can  do  .

secret pain. that earns a laugh in response, nearly messing up your counting of the brunette's heartbeats. throughout medical school, you're taught a lot of things : how to perform a delicate appendectomy, the steps of a coronary artery bypass graft, even the precision needed for a craniotomy. there are things you aren't taught, though ——— 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜. how to compartmentize that glint in your patient's eye. one wrong sentence and off to hr you go. don't go pulling an izzie stevens now! lifting the stethoscope from maeve's chest, you straighten your posture, a soft smile breaching your lips. ❝ a drink, huh? tempting, but i'm not sure my day ends any time soon. ❞ you've seen more sunrises and sunsets in this hospital than your own home. 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗. reaching for her charts, you use them as a distraction ——— a mask of sorts. face half - covered by the various sheets of papers, your blue irises move back and forth between patient history and maeve's face. finally, you emit a sigh. ❝ i'm also not supposed to fraterize with patients. even the ones i know from joe's. ❞ you've already got a bad enough rep hovering like a dark cloud : dirty mistress, wifestealer, homewrecker. [ not to mention, the rumors you dated shepard to make ranks. ] patient - dater added to the list? you can't. although, 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎? especially after a long day and multiple shots of tequila. and you're not a quitter.

if sean had to describe the life they had shared together, he'd call it a series of closing doors, but maeve was their namesake's wordsmith, traits he figured came from their dad; sean instead inherited the artist's malady, clawing at the crushing weight of mortality that pushed his head underwater. a sober moment causes his mind to race, the crippling fear of death and the stronger aversion to living combatting one another as existentialism loomed like a shadow overhead. he'd take anything to quiet the thoughts that left him bereft, give anything for the world to simply let him be, sunless and suffering just that little bit less than he would if fully present inside his own head. an approximation of regret passes over his white skin at her suggestion, a pale imitation of the real thing that barely ticks against his washed-out complexion. he's leaving her again and all she requests in his absence is a forwarding address. a sad smile touches at ghostly lips, the only intimation of fondness his tired expression could muster.

the whites of his eyes—like snow against bark—widen a mite at the supposition; there is wonder that accompanies every step the woods bestows, a feeling of borrowed time that nips at the very tips of his fingers, cold and unfriendly. it feels something like a living death, the carrying on after expiration; you had died, you had been grieved, so how was it that you remained? [javi did not remember eating, did not remember sleeping, did not recall a minute of it all. one moment there, another moment gone, and the following he was alive again, as though the woods itself had breathed into him a second wind. walking flesh.] javi stares at maeve a moment more, passing silent secrets between the vast space they shared, as though she could fathom the words etched behind the windows of his skull, his lips sealed as though by some unseen force. his silence was a glimpse into something too terrible to recount, his haunted stare that went too long unblinking spoke volumes of a fearful something else that resided within the woods alongside them. whatever it was, it took no name nor shape, but it dwelled within the air, the trees, the fresh layer of snow the youngest boy was much too afraid to disturb, as though it could be awoken by the smallest of motions and reap its revenge upon them.

that's how the tabloid media works. a story is only a story for a few days. that's not how the entertainment industry works, though. if only the world was that easy. part of you wants to scoff in maeve's face, roll your eyes and turn you back— a childlike action. it's not the first time you've heard that sentiment; it feels as if that's the only thing people can spew at you. this isn't the end of the world. this isn't a problem. none of them are wearing the same pair of shoes as you, though— none of them are in the driver's seat like you. there all peer in through their windows, believing they have all the answers— that they know how to fix everything. they try to convince you the paranoia is made up inside your head, that the gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach isn't actually there. who even needs a gun to shoot you when their words do the same amount of damage? instead, you remain timid, hands resting in your lap as your gaze remains fixated there. even in the face of ridicule, even if it's not intentional, you can't raise your voice. [there's that nagging voice in the back of your head, your guardian angel looking out for you. she didn't mean the words out of mockery. but the devil's advocate can't help but raise an eyebrow, mind pondering into those backroom thoughts. what if maeve did have mockery behind her words?] lips pressing themselves together, your head tilts to the side, as if mulling over the words in your head. you're not. but perks of being an actress— even a shitty one? you're good at wearing a mask. “i don't know about that.” leaning forward, your lips wrap themselves around the straw resting inside your cocktail, taking a large sip. as you pull away, your features scrunch as you swallow the concoction. “i feel if that was true, i would be getting some actual jobs, you know? but hey— at least i get to hang out with you. that's pretty cool.”

⁽ ᴿᴼᴳᴱᴿ ⁾       …       ‘    asked by @likewiley :          ❝  curious . how many more rock bottoms are you going to have to hit before you start taking care of yourself ? ❞     ⁽ ᴼᵁᵀ ⁾

it was a fair enough question . charlotte found herself hitting the lowest points in her life only to get up and fall all over again . but at this point , the lows were where the excitement sat . hunched over toilet was a low , sure . but night before had been so thrilling . night before had been a blur ; a messy blur . all she remembered was how dramatic she'd gotten to be , and how fun that was . " if you're not here to hold my hair and get me water , get out . if i wanted a lecture , i'd talk to my dad . "